


My Everything

by alylynn122



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, But so is Jeanine, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Four feels, Grief/Mourning, Love, Oneshot, Peter has a heart, Peter is a Little Shit, Peter isn't, Romance, Tobias is a BAMF, Tris is a BAMF, Tris is an idiot, caleb is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6681646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alylynn122/pseuds/alylynn122
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Tris' execution, told from Tobias' point of view as he waits in his cell in Erudite headquarters. Tris thinks she's dead, and Four thinks he's lost everything. Neither of them counted on Peter having a change of heart. </p><p>Insurgent spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Everything

“Tobias.”

I shot up, throwing my blanket off of me and moving to an upright position instinctively. Years of Dauntless training have taught me to always be ready. Laying down is vulnerable.

I look up for who had spoken my name. My Abnegation name.

Caleb stands in my door way, clothed in Erudite blue. Traitor.

“Don't call me that. What the hell do you want?” I snap, smoothing a hand through my hair. I had been up late last night. Well, only what I can presume was last night. There was no clock here, or a window anywhere besides my door. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was, trapped here in Erudite headquarters.

“Beatrice's execution has been scheduled for this morning,” he says, his voice betraying very little emotion. My mind is groggy from sleep. I heard something about Tris' execution, but we would be out of here before then..

“Wait, what?” I say suddenly, jumping to my feet. He said this morning, as in today.

“They've decided to continue the serum experiments on you. Beatrice is too unpredictable. She will be more helpful when her brain can be physically explored,” he replies. His voice breaks on her name. Fruitlessly, I try to swallow around the lump in my throat, feeling as though I had just stepped from the ledge of a high building, plummeting towards the ground faster and faster...

“Tris! Execution!” I shout, slamming my hand into the wall.

“Caleb, you have to stop this,” I turn to him, searching his eyes for any sign of the brother who loved his sister.

“There is nothing I can do. Don't make this any harder for me, Tobias. I only came because I thought you should know,” he implores, looking at me with a painful expression. What was he hoping for? Understanding? Obviously, he doesn't expect anything from me, because after a moment, he left, closing the door behind him. I hear the automatic lock click into place.

“You coward! Traitor!” I scream down the hallway at him, watching him disappear from my window's view.

Panic envelopes me. Tris. The attack will come too late to help her. I think of the last time I saw her, touched her. I remember her writhing on the metal table, pulling at the restraints that dug into her hands as she yelled my name, screamed at me to stop. I remember the tears streaming down her face, and the scream. That high, animal scream that just went on endlessly. I had fought, tried to slip away to get to her. I had begged them to stop, all while that scream just went on and on and on...

I gave away the safehouse locations that day. I had nothing left to use as leverage, nothing that they wanted.

I look straight at the camera in my cell, picture Jeanine staring at it, with her crew of Erudite shadows, all watching to see how the loss of my love would affect me.

I imagine staring Jeanine straight in the eye.

“Tris! I want to see her. You can't take her from me, not without letting me say goodbye!” I shout. My voice breaks on the last word, coming out with a strangled sound. I feel suddenly dizzy, and collapse against the wall behind me. Resting my head on my knees, I hide my face with my arms. The sobs come without warning. It has been a long time since I cried. My breath comes out ragged, forced. She was going to be safe. We had it worked out, she was going to be safe. The last time I had held her? When was that? When we broke out of our cells, when I was able to pretend, just for a short while, that we were safe. We were going to be okay.

The world around me evaporates away. Sob after sob racks my body, and gnarled groans escape my throat. Tris. My small, stubborn divergent. I think of her beautiful spirit, her defiant strength. I think of the fire in her eyes, the passion that sets her jaw whenever she stands up for someone. I can almost see her light, piercing eyes, setting the world ablaze.

With a growl, I throw myself onto my feet. I hit the walls, the door, the small window. My fists beat against the glass, trying to break it. It shudders, but doesn't budge.

“Tris! Tris!” I shout, throwing my shoulder at the door. It doesn't move, and I fall to the ground in front of it. Narrowing my eyes, I focus my attention back on the camera.

“Tris! I want to see her! Let me see her! Tris!” I call, repeating my demands over and over into the lens, at whoever is listening.

I hear something by my door. Looking over, I see a small hand planted against my window. A hand with the nails bitten down to the nub.

I stop my shout mid-sentence, and go to the window. She is there. Her jaw is set determinedly. She doesn't look scared. She looks worried. About me. She is about to die, and she is worried about me. I drink in her face, her eyes, her hair. I want to touch her, kiss her, hold her, never let her go. I put my hand on the glass, right across from hers. The only way we can be close. She doesn't say anything. There is nothing to say. She just looks at me. I put my forehead on the window, trying to feel her warmth, committing her vivacious, courageous eyes into my mind. When I open my eyes again, she is gone. My hand is pressed against the glass still. I feel a cold draft of air around my body, and shiver.

“Tris, please. Please don't go,” I whisper, hoping by some miracle she will appear in front of my window again. I feel empty, as though there is nothing but cold air in me, around me.

She is going to die.

“No!” I yell, a deep growl emitting from my throat. I throw myself at the door again. I won't let this happen. I can't let this happen. Tugging at the place the door meets the wall, I try to kick it, punch it, ram it.

“Please, no,” I say, weakly hitting the window again. My strength has evaporated. I am weak. I am useless. I can't save her. I can't save her. She is going to die. She is going to die while I sit here in my room.

It would be easier if there were someone here, holding me back, punching me as I struggle to get to her. How will they do it? A gun? No, too messy for Erudite. It will be some sort of injection, some sort of serum. One last needle.

I imagine the light leaving her eyes. I imagine her warm, slender body growing cold, going gray. A sound escapes my throat. Something between a scream, a sob, and a groan.

“Tris. Tris. Tris,” I say her name over and over as I rock with my head in between my legs. As I close my eyes and try to feel her warmth, I can almost feel her small arms encircling me, her warm, soft lips against mine. I can feel her forehead, her cheeks, her hair.

I don't know how long I sit there, trying to hold her memory to me. I will never hold her again. I will never see her again. They will dissect her cold body when she is gone. Everything she is will be gone.

I hear the beeping as my door code is entered. I can't see who is there. I don't care. I don't look up. They can't hurt me anymore. They've already taken everything away. There is nothing anymore, no way left to hurt me.

The door slides open.

“What do you...” I start, removing my head from my hands to see who is coming in.

I see her then. Held in Peter's arms. She is pale, still. Lifeless.

“Oh my god,” I breathe. She doesn't move. Her eyes are closed. I'll never see them open again. I'll never kiss her again. I will never hear her voice again.

“Oh...” Peter cuts me off with a glare.

“Spare me the blubbering, okay?” He says, “She's not dead, she's just paralyzed. It'll only last about a minute. Now, get ready to run.”

Not dead? Paralyzed. I suck in my breath. She's not dead. Peter betrayed the Erudite. We are running. We are leaving. She's not dead. She is still here. I get up and walk closer to him. I can see her faintly breathing. There is still color in her face. I need to hold her.

“Let me carry her,” I say. I mean it to sound demanding, but it comes out more pleading. I need to touch her.

“No,” Peter replies, almost forcefully, “You're a better shot than I am. Take my gun, I'll carry her.”

Without further argument, I reach into Peter's holster and remove the heavy, cold gun from its resting place. This is real. We are leaving. Peter is helping us.

I can't help but move the hair off of her face with my free hand. An electric shock goes through me at the contact. She is still warm. With that, we take off down the hallway. Peter is obviously struggling with her weight, but says nothing as we dash through the corridors.

“Left!” Peter calls behind me. We take the left passage and I spot a Dauntless traitor in the hallway.

“Hey, what..” He calls, but never gets to finish. My bullet hits him right in the throat.

We reach the end of the hall, and it connects to another one.

“Right!” Peter shouts, skidding as he sharply turns the corner. I don't even give the guards a chance to register the noise before I fire two shots, and they fall. Blood leaks from the holes right between their eyes.

“Whoa.” Peter admires breathlessly as we continue down the hallway.

“Wait, stop here!” he orders suddenly, and I skid to a halt.

He opens the door, and begins to run in. Tris' head has fallen back, and before I can reach out to stop it from ramming the door, her arm shoots out and smacks into the door frame.

“Careful,” she croaks. A shiver courses through me. I thought I would never hear that voice again. I squeeze into the door on the other side of Peter, and he forces it shut with the back of his foot as we move away from it. We are in a room full of trash, with a small square on the other side of the room. I look down at her, at those eyes. Still full of life.

“Tris,” I sigh, bringing myself down to her level. Tears of relief blur my vision.

“Beatrice,” she replies. A chuckle sounds from my mouth. I am giddy with happiness. This feels like a dream, but I never want it to end.

“Beatrice,” I repeat. Beatrice, the name I am allowed to use on special occasions. I smile, then bring my face to hers for a shallow-breathed kiss. Feeling her grab my shirt, I allow her to pull me closer to her. She is here. She is alive. That's all that matters. The world fades away as our lips meet.

“Unless you want me to throw up all over you guys, you might want to save it for later,” Peter snaps, his voice annoyed.

His voice brings me back to reality, back to the sense of danger that surrounds us. I pull away from her, slightly.

“Where are we?” she asks, looking into my eyes as though they hold the answer to all of her fears.

“This is the trash incinerator,” Peter answers for me. I hear a slap on metal, and assume he thunked the door on the wall.

“I turned it off,” he continues, “It'll take us to the alley. And then your aim had better be perfect, Four,” he adds, shifting his gaze to me, “if you want to get out of the Erudite sector alive.”

“Don't concern yourself with my aim,” I reply coldly. Is this a trick? Peter wouldn't help us. Peter is a traitor, a monster. I get a brief flash of him holding Tris by her throat over the roaring of the chasm, and my stomach hardens.

I say nothing as Peter opens the small square door. It squeaks as it swings open.

“Tris, you first,” he orders. It makes sense. She is the smallest. Reluctantly, I let her get up and walk unsteadily to the wall. I get up to steady her, but she is already sitting on the entrance, struggling to cram her other leg into the space. Grabbing it gently, I slide it next to her other one in the chute.

She shoves away, and I hear her transition from metal to something that rolls. Then, a smack, and a small groan. Is she hurt?

“Ow,” she says, and I hear her walking away.

“Go ahead,” she calls.

“See you at the bottom,” Peter says as he pushes me away and thrusts himself down the chute. I hear him groan as well, and prepare myself for a hard impact as I start down the slide.

As I slide, I hear Peter remark, “Don't say I never took you anywhere nice.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” I hear Tris reply flatly. A smile cracks across my face despite the sense of urgency that prickles my skin. Always the sarcastic one.

I hit the ground hard, and while I had prepared for a tough landing, it still hurts. With a wince, I attempt to get myself up. Tris grabs my arm with strong fingers and helps haul me to my feet. Once I am up, she pushes herself tenderly to my side. It feels good to have her close to me again. I don't notice the stench of the room, or the cold metal kissing my feet. All I see is her.

Peter opens a grate at the end of the room, and I lead Tris away from the trash and burning coals. We follow Peter into a small, cement room.

“Got your gun?” he asks me, glancing at the gun in my hands. What was the point of asking?

“No, I figured I would shoot the bullets out of my nostrils, so I left it upstairs,” I retort, smiling slightly.

“Oh shut up,” Peter replies, exasperated.

He opens the door, and I get ready to reclaim our freedom.

 

 

 


End file.
